Another Day I've Gone Mad
by ALC Punk
Summary: A new Slayer in Sunnydale has to deal with who she really is. Original Character.


Disclaimer: Spike and Drusilla and Sunnydale and the Hellmouth ALL don't belong to me. In fact, they belong to Joss the Bastard. No money is being made from this, and no infringement intended.

Notes: First. If you like original characters, run now. Second. This is all Kossie's fault. Because, and I quote, "Can I get a Spike when I grow up? Can I? Pleeeeeeease?" Yes, Kossie, you can. Sort of. Note the third: While I may have based Becca's appearance, name and hair colour off of Kossie, I have in no way based ANY of her life off of Kossie's. Nope. That came off the back of one of those bad romance novels on the grocery store checkout aisles.

Rating: Oh, I'm going with a strong PG13/R, here, since I use lots of language, and hint at sex and other things.

Spoilers: Er. Sort of the end of the fifth season. I mean, well. Yeah. End of fifth season. So, beware.

Otherthings: The two songs quoted are "Could've Gone Mad" and "Walk the Walk" and "Wild" by Poe, off her Haunted cd. OH! And the names of the kittens were from a conversation in #subcafe. I believe Nique suggested Therapy, and I suggested Psychosis. Someone else suggested their mental attitudes... Er, I don't feel like digging into the log to find out who. But, thanks! :)

Dedication: to Kossie. He's yours now, sweetie. ;)

Another Day I've Gone Mad by Ana Lyssie Cotton

So I made a wish on a million other stars And registered your name with a few That way if you ever forget who you are You can look up and see a picture of you --"Could've Gone Mad" - Poe

"Becca McShane, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Startled out of her reverie, Becca looked up at her best friend with a splash of guilt. "Um..."

Marcie Travers snorted and flopped down in the shade next to her, "Don't even try it." She brushed her blonde hair back out of her face and collapsed backwards. "Oh, this feels good."

Carefully, Becca put the knife away. It wasn't as if she'd cut herself or anything, she thought rebelliously. It was just practise. Play with the knife until you feel it's an extension of yourself. Then begin carefully shaving the ends of your fingernails. They were painted 'fuck-me' red, the edges slightly raged from the knife. But the power was still there.

"I don't know why you play with that thing, anyway."

"It's fun," She shrugged and leaned back, carefully putting a hand behind her head to keep her red hair from getting twigs and leaves in it. "Besides, what else should I do?"

"Join a club on campus?" Marcie suggested. "You're a writer, maybe you should get on the newspaper."

"Nah. Sounds boring."

"You always say that."

"Gee. Should I apologise for being predictable?"

Marcie chuckled, "Never mind."

"I heard there's a new professor coming to the school." Becca volunteered a few minutes later.

"Yeah. Some history teacher. Medieval Magic, or some shit like that."

"Magic isn't shit." A shiver passed up her spine, as if a portent of things to come.

"And how would you know that?"

"I just do."

Restless, Becca sat up, then stood, reaching up to grab a leaf from the tree. There was something about this place. There had been stories about Sunnydale. Most of them were urban legends, or something. But... Some of them felt real.

"Becca, what is getting into you? I swear, you've changed since we got here."

"It's this place." She stared into the middle distance, almost not noticing the red brick buildings and concrete pathways. "I feel like I've been here before. Like something I did here needs to be undone. Changed."

"Rebecca Cassandra Jessica McShane, stop talking like some stupid psychic bitch off the TV." Marcie was on her feet now, arms folded across her chest as she looked at her best friend with a very disapproving look.

Becca turned towards her with a saucy grin, "Just pulling your leg."

"Thank God." Marcie relaxed and placed her hands on her hips, Glaring. "Don't do it again, okay?"

"Okay, okay..." Becca ducked and scooped up her backpack. "C'mon. I think it's time to go back and see how the kittens are doing."

Marcie trotted after her, "I still can't believe what you named them. I'm still gonna call 'em Spot and Tiger."

They entered the dorm, cool shade engulfing them in a wash of air conditioning. Becca didn't answer as they went up the stairs to the second floor. Cheery lemon yellow walls confronted them, with doorways every few feet. Their own room was in the corner, with a nice view out of two of the windows--at trees. It was just large enough for two narrow beds, an end table, two dressers, a small refridgerator, and a tiny closet.

And two kittens. Marcie wasn't sure where they'd come from. She'd just come back from Economics one day to find Becca stretched out on the bed playing with one of them. Their names--according to Becca--were Therapy and Psychosis. Marcie didn't like the names much. Something about names like that wigged her out.

Psychosis looked up from her nap with a sleepy "purhf." Therapy, on the other hand, came flying off the dresser, landing on Becca with a firmness that ensured at least one claw had dug into flesh. "Ow!"

"I told you not to encourage him."

Becca shrugged and carefully scritched the kitten while disentangling him. "Well, it's okay. Yes, I love you lots, Therapy. Now be a good boy and let Mama go so she can get you some milk."

The black and white kitten gave a muted "Mrrow." and released her, allowing himself to be set on the bed next to his calico sis. Marcie shook her head as she closed the door, "I don't know how long it'll be before someone notices them."

"Not long, but it'll be fun while it lasts." Becca pulled the bottle of milk from the fridge and poured some into the cat dish. She looked sideways at Marcie, "Besides, you really don't like them much anyway, so what are you worried about?"

"Nothin'." Marcie replied as she flopped on the bed and began tickling Psychosis' tummy.

"Anyway, it's not like people are going to notice them yet."

"Whatever."

"Yeah."

Hey everybody, when my daddy died He had a sad, sad story written in his eyes...

Night had fallen, turning the deep blue of the day to a charcoal-darkness studded with twinkling stars. As she gazed up through the tree branches, Marcie wondered what it was about this place that changed people. She'd accused Becca of it, earlier. But she herself had felt affected. As if there was some echo from the past that haunted and winded between the threads of the minds of students.

She shivered, shoving the thought away. It didn't matter, really. Life was life.

Therapy chose that moment to pounce on a trailing thread. She giggled at him and flopped backwards, giving him a start and nearly tumbling him to the floor. He quickly regained himself, trouncing the thread into non-existance and then curling up at her side to snooze.

Marcie was determined not to like the kittens, but they had long ago won her heart. She sighed softly. The dorm policies were 'no pets'; as soon as someone reported the kittens, they could be gone.

A tapping sound came from the door. She didn't really think about it as she called, "Come in."

And even if she had, it might not have helped. In the end.

Dear world, I'm pleased To meet you

"'I wanna walk to the beat of my own drum'," Becca sang as she walked back from the coffee shop. "'Wanna walk to the beat of my own drum'."

It was a song she'd heard some time ago, but had remembered recently. And, since even she admitted she had a decent voice, she sang it. The coffee shop--known to all on campus as the Sludge--had been full of people winding down from a long day of lectures and academic insanity. They'd been happy to indulge themselves in a little fun karaoke.

She shook her head, remembering the horribly bad voices, and the one or two that had been good. Someone had asked her, but she hadn't sung. Mainly because she didn't feel like it. Which made her wonder what it was about now that did.

A chuckle echoed from her. "Don't be silly, Becca. It's just the night. And the wind." As if in answer to her comment, the wind rolled around her almost caressing her as she sauntered through it.

The dorm loomed out of the night, and she looked at it for a moment, then shrugged and entered, feeling suddenly bereft to be cut off from the night and the stars.

She paused to get used to the light inside, then sprinted up the stairs, counting seconds under her breath.

"...ten....eleven...twelve!" Becca leaned against the wall for a moment, panting. This run had knocked one second off her own time. She felt rather proud of that. With a grin and salute to the stairs, she turned and headed down the hall to their room.

Silence gathered around her as she went. Apparently, most of her dorm-mates were asleep or studying silently. Even Roger the computer geek wasn't blasting Primus at obscene levels like normal. She giggled as she thought of short-circuiting his computer sometime. Maybe everyone was just all in some room getting high. It had happened before.

Becca knocked on their door as she passed. "I'm grabbing a quick shower, back in ten."

No one answered her, but she didn't repine on it, simply walked around the corner and into the shower room.

Someone had painted the yellow tiles with red paint, she noticed absently. Her shirt was halfway off before it registered that the paint had been in letters which dripped stickily. She turned back to it.

"'She is not her.'" Becca read softly. "What? Who is not who? What sort of fucked up message is that? Stupid upperclassmen."

Pulling her shirt back on, she stepped up to the wall and reached out to touch the paint. If it were still wet, she'd go grab the camera, snap a photo, and then wash it off. If it were dry... She grinned, pondering what the janitor would think when she saw this.

It was still wet. And sticky. As she pulled her fingers back, she realised she could also smell something. Some stench she recognised. Reaching up to her lips, she sniffed gently.

Blood.

She found herself rolling it between her fingers, feeling it stiffen into a dry tackiness. "Who would do this?"

The question echoed in the empty room, mocking her with its stupidity.

"Marcie." She turned and ran back into the hallway, hitting their door with the bloodied hand and shoving it back against the wall. "Marcie?"

The room was empty, the kittens gone as well as Marcie. The window was open, the breeze flittering around the room, bandying with the sheets and ruffles on things. The cat dish lay upside down on the floor.

Something on Marcie's bed caught her eye. It wasn't much, really. It glittered in the light, dark and dangerous. Becca moved towards it, feeling drawn to it. She sank to her knees and leaned forward.

The smell of blood assailed her nose again, and she nearly gagged. As if its work was done, the spot sank further into the bedclothes, turning dark and flat. Light no longer reflected from it.

Becca jumped to her feet and turned to the closet. It was time. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but... it had.

If I decide to make you my religion I think God would be kind

The shower room had proved as empty as she'd thought. The blood had obviously been gathered, then painted on with a brush. She shook her head at the thoroughness of the assailant. He or she had blithely painted with blood while her roommate lay dying. Somewhere.

But where? She went back to their room and inspected the window--surprised to find out it was actually broken. The shards had fallen outwards, which meant Marcie had either let the person in--or, more likely, called out for him or her to enter. And then they'd left by the window after using her blood as paint.

She frowned. That wouldn't have worked. For that much blood, there must have been more spattered around. And yet, there wasn't.

The abductor had either used the available blood, or had it from somewhere else. Blood.... maybe from a blood bank? She half-moved towards the phone, then shrugged. It didn't matter, really. It was her job. Her failure.

Becca veered away from that thought and carefully went out the window. Her hands grabbed onto the trunk of one of the trees and she carefully shinnied down it, wincing when a stray branch jabbed her cheek.

Once on the ground, she inspected the area, trying to decide which way the assailant had gone. Or was kidnapper a better word, she wondered. Of course, if this was what she thought it was, maybe she didn't have to know. Maybe she could just go there...

She certainly couldn't track anyone worth a damn. But guessing where they might be would work. She shivered and hoped that she was right. Otherwise Marcie might not survive.

Or, rather, she would. But not as herself.

Hey everybody, when I Hear the knock Don't wanna measure out my life To the tick of a clock

The journey didn't take as long as it could have. The moonlight and stars shone down on her, providing all the light she needed. Streetlights almost blinded her with their artificial intensity.

The graveyard itself was full of wind and restless movement. No corpses actually walked, but there was a sense of waiting to the area. She ignored it and headed for the center, where a small stone crypt stood.

Inside, it seemed dark for a moment, and then she could see light from cracks in the floor.

"You're all alike, really." The voice echoed from somewhere below her. Becca shivered. It sounded insane. "You all prance around, bleating things about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And it don't mean SHIT." He was British, whoever he was.

She searched the crypt, trying to make no sound as she shoved dust and debris around, frantically feeling for what had to be there, somewhere. A trapdoor. It was the only thing that made sense. He was below, in a hollowed-out cave holding Marcie. Torturing her. Turning her.

"And you all have your fake blonde hair, and your fake tits, and your fake smiles. And you think that makes everything all right."

The door had been open. She wondered, as she found the edge to the trapdoor--conveniently uncovered--if he was waiting for her.

"Things happen, and you don't listen. And then when you do--pfah. You leave." He sounded so wounded and sad.

No noise echoed from the trap as she swung it upwards. For a moment, the light from below almost blinded her. And then it was blocked by him. He stood looking at her, face shadowed, his hair gleamed like a halo from the yellow light behind it.

"I knew you would come. You always do."

"I shouldn't." She said softly as he moved out of the way to let her down into the cavern. Dust and debris littered the floor. A small bed sat in one corner, a stone plinth opposite it. Dark stains decorated the pale stone, and Marcie lay chained to it, head lolling to the side in apparent sleep.

"But you do. It's what keeps me going."

She drew in a ragged breath and stepped towards the plinth, "She's still alive."

"Well, duh."

"Why her? Why now?"

"She reminds me." He threw himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "There once was this blonde girl, y'know. She had everything. Looks, charm, wit. And she threw it all away on everyone else. Then she died." He shrugged, "But there were times she looked--sad. And I saw your friend in the window tonight. For a second, she looked just like Her. Then it was gone. It made me so angry."

"You didn't have to kill anyone."

"I haven't." He sounded mildly offended.

"But you would have, if I hadn't shown up."

"But you came."

His logic was irrefutable. Becca shivered, wishing she wasn't so predictable. "Where are the kittens?"

"They took off while I was climbin' down."

"Ah." She kicked at a rock, then frowned at him, "And the blood on the wall?"

He grinned cheekily, "I knew you'd see it and come here."

"Bastard."

"Oh, now waitaminute. I had it on the highest authority that I wasn't born on the wrong side of the blanket. Besides, you think I'm cute." The grin changed to a leer.

"That could change at any moment," She pointed out calmly.

"You think I'm right sexy when I'm in black leather." He pointed out, then glanced at her own getup and leered some more. "And I return the compliment."

"Shut up, Spike. You're becomming obnoxious."

"And you have lost your sense of humour," He stood and sauntered to the plinth. "She's gonna be awake soon, whattya say I just turn her, then we can stake her and no harm done?"

"Make her forget."

"I can't."

"Damn you." Becca didn't want anyone to know of this secret life. This yearning, this man. She wanted him to herself. A part of her unshared and unknown. Until now. The other girls had all never seen her--they hadn't even known she was there, once they woke up and Spike set them free. But Marcie...

"She means a lot to you, doesn't she."

"Not really." Yes.

He snorted, "Don't try that with me, Rebecca. I know you."

"Yes. You do."

Silence fell for a time, as they tried to avoid each other's eyes. And then Marcie awoke. Her scream pierced the silent vail of calm accord until she saw Becca.

"Becca, what's happening?" She demanded, struggling into a sitting position. She winced as her neck straightened, "Where are we?"

"You're in my humble abode." Spike bowed extravegantly.

"Nice place," Marcie said sarcastically. She looked at Becca, "Aren't you going to talk to me, or has the cat got your tongue?"

"They got out," Becca said softly. She stepped towards Marcie, "When he broke the window, they got out."

"Ah. They'd've been gone soon, anyway."

"Yes."

Spike was watching her, one eyebrow raised. Becca realised suddenly that she had a knife in her hand. It was the one she'd been playing with that afternoon--had it really been that recently? It felt like an eternity.

Marcie stood and turned to Spike, hands on her hips. "So, what was the point of all of this, huh? Did you just need some stupid thrill? Is life too boring for cavedwellers these days?"

"No." Becca whispered into Marcie's ear from behind her, "He's a vampire."

"They don't exist."

"That's what I said, at first." She smiled at Spike, "But I know it's true now."

The madness was stealing over her again. She could feel it, dancing on the edges of her perception. As Marcie turned around to face her, she closed her eyes, welcoming. Some small part of her fell screaming into a dark place as she reached out to stroke the knife along Marcie's jawline.

"What are you--" Marcie's eyes widened in terror as Spike clamped down on her shoulders, holding her in place. "Becca, what is this, I don't understand--"

"Sshhhh...." She bent forward, lips close to Marcie's. "It won't hurt. It never does. The wind tells me so, you know. It blows and dances around me, entrusting me with its secrets." She gave a soft chuckle, "It would never trust you, Marcie. Because you're not like me."

"Not like you? I don't understand, I--" She frantically struggled, trying to break free. But Spike held her fast, his strength more than a match for hers. "Please, Becca..."

"Becca?" She blinked, coming slightly out of the swirling red and purple, "I am Becca, yes... But the wind sings."

Marcie was crying now, as the knife moved under her chin, pricking the skin there lightly. "Please, Becca. You know me. I'm your best friend. We grew up together."

"Oh, yes. I grew up. But not till I got here, Marcie." A soft giggle echoed out into the cavern. "I found the place of fire, Marcie. I bathed in it, I took it into myself--and then I killed Her. She was there, sleeping soundly, and I knew I had to kill her to have it all. So I did."

"Who, Becca?"

"Drusilla." Becca danced away, knife in hand, "Her name is Drusilla, pet. And she was so upset to die. I had to be nice to her in some way, didn't I?"

"I don't understand this at all," Marcie whispered, shaking with fear.

"Of course you don't! You weren't there, Marcie. You didn't understand about Jordan, either. You told me it was all my fault," Becca knelt in front of her friend. "It wasn't, was it, Marcie. You told him I was a cheap drunk. That was all he needed, you know. Slip a bit of vodka into my punch, and, BAM. Willing bed-partner for the degenerate fucker."

"I--" Marcie flushed. "I did. Yeah. I'm sorry, Becca, I didn't think--"

"Now, that is an out and out lie, babe. You told me once I'd be sorry for things. I never even saw what those things were, you know. Little things that made you paranoid." Becca giggled. "Paranoid that I wasn't your friend, that I couldn't be trusted. And so you paid me back. With rape."

"I..."

"Or, rather," She stood, knife glinting in the light as she sort of danced it around absently, "Attempted rape. You missed what happened, you know. His family covered it all up. So did mine, in a way. After all, can't tell your friends that your eldest daughter is a mind-destroyer."

"What?"

"It was instinct, that first time," Becca mused, as the knife played around Marcie's shirt, creating a delicate webwork of cuts. "I just reached out in blind panic and snap his mind shattered into my feet. It was so lovely, like stomping grapes for wine."

"Jordan... That's what happened to him," Marcie closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks, "His parents wouldn't even let me say goodbye. We'd had a date planned for the next night, and I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Spike had been silent through all of this, watching the two women, wondering how things would go. He almost assumed that Marcie would go free, maybe a little the worse for wear, but otherwise okay. But as Becca heard those last words, something in her eyes glittered, and he shivered.

"I wondered if there might have been something like that."

"Becca, I don't understand, though. If you knew, why wait till now to get revenge, or something?"

"I never really cared." She shrugged, "You were useful camouflage. Kept stupid questions from being answered. Besides, it was so fun to catch the occassional glimpses of guilt you carried. I think the most exquisite one was the night after I met Spike. You didn't know what had happened, but you thought I'd been raped, hadn't you."

"Yes."

"And the guilt tore at you, 'Oh, this is all my fault. Boohoohoo.' Well, big fucking ha. I win. And you lose."

"Please, Becca."

But the plea sounded less pleading and more dead and weary. Becca giggled as she set the knife along Marcie's collar. "I wonder, will you taste bitter? Or will you be sweet and sugary with pride and self-importance?"

"Taste?"

"Yes. Taste. Your blood, sweetie. I want to know what it tastes like. I crave it, you know. The hunger gnaws at me sometimes, almost overwhelming. But I can ignore it if I have to. But you. You have given me something to hunger for. Vengeance. Resolution."

"But, but--you're not a vampire, you've been in the sunlight."

"So?" Becca shrugged, "I absorbed a vampire, pet. She lives in my head and giggles at the stars. The wind plays with us when it's night." She leaned her body against Marcie's. "You never noticed that, did you? I am a creature of the night now. And you're dead."

"I--" The word ended on a soft squeal as the knife slid into her neck, slicing a shallow gash across the jugular and windpipe. Becca sighed happily and leaned in, nuzzling the blood, slipping it into her mouth, between her lips.

She drank deeply, then, filling the agony and need inside with something warm and slightly salty-sweet. The metallic scent filled her nostrils, along with the sour stench of fear. It didn't matter, it was like the bouqet of fine wine that broken minds could become. She laughed in her head, giggling at it all.

The body slowly sagged to the floor, until it was half-empty, and she satiated. Becca looked up at Spike, blood decorating her lips, "Your turn, lover."

He looked a little sick, for some reason. As if she'd startled him, as if she'd scared him.

"What is it, lover? Surprised? You didn't think I was going to kill her, did you?" She smiled and stood, stepping into him, wrapping her arms around him. "You should know me better than that." She nipped his chin, then caught his mouth with her own. "You really should..."

I go wild 'cause you break me open Wild, because there isn't anybody else around Wild, when the waves start to break And God knows they're breakin' in me now

It was much later, the stars were gleaming above them as they lay on the roof of the crypt. His arm was around her, and she nestled into his side. Contentment wrapped them, slipping out into the night and causing some people drowsy half-awake nightmares of death and pain. "Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I scare you, don't I?"

"Dru scared me."

Human eyes stared at him, as she levered up and over to look into his. "I absorbed Dru. She's here." She tapped her forehead. "Not all the time, but." She shivered. "She scares me, Spike."

"She should." He said softly. "If I didn't have this chip buried in me brain, I would never have realised how dangerous she is."

"You can't hurt innocence now, can you." She lowered herself onto his chest and sighed.

"No."

"But you can hurt me."

"I wouldn't."

"Spike..." She sat up suddenly, and looked at him, something deadly serious in her eyes. "If I become Drusilla, kill me."

He didn't answer for a very long time, and when he did it was with an odd melancholy. "OK."

A moment later, he jumped as a tiny black shadow pounced him. "Oi!"

"What the--Therapy! Psychosis!" Becca began to laugh as the two kittens tumbled around them, purring happily. "You're ok!"

Spike was glaring at them, "Bad kitties. No puncturing the vampire."

"Mrroow?" Psychosis asked daintily as she circled around, then settled into his lap.

"Uh..."

"I think she likes you." Becca was barely holding back laughter at the site of the little kitten completely subduing the man in front of her. Therapy butted his head into her hand, and she complied, scritching him.

"That's great, that is. Wonderful." Spike said gloomily as Becca settled back against his side, Therapy purring in her arms. "A half-vampire, two kittens, and the sun."

"We can go back in in a moment," she said drowsily.

"Yeah, yeah. Story of my life, it is..."

-finis- 


End file.
